Two poems this Remembrance Day … a day stained poppy red.
Silence, Poppy Red
Silence, coloured red and black
Like poppies on the jackets
Of black suited, sober businessmen
Who wear no other colour
And cry no other tears.
Students, children, all silent
At the grave in Belgium
Where a soldier maybe lies;
None speak – do not dare
To utter a word.
A strident trumpet call
That shatters the frosty air
And people look to see –
Which young trumpeter, this year
Cries out for us?
A gunshot ends all.
Remembrance day is over
Today I write
Is it some coincidence that today I write
With red words on a black screen?
Blood red, you might say,
Poppy red, I would reply, those flowers
That speak of pain and sacrifice
And above all an ended life.
Is it some coincidence that my words
Tell the tale of one who lies dying?
A soldier she is not,
But caught in a war and injured
By men like animals who feel no love,
And above all feel no remorse.
Is it some coincidence that I choose today
To stay behind and hear the trumpets call?
A sad song, you might say,
And I would tell you that it is beautiful
And filled with love and pain and hate
And above all, makes me cry.